The Gentleman's Game
by Jenz127
Summary: A one-shot about the Doctor's Return to Blackheath Rugby Club! Please read and review!


**I thought of this in the café at university whilst I was meant to be revising (now **_**that**_** was a productive day!), and I thought - well, why not give it a go. Just a little one-shot dedicated to the dear Doctor! By the way, whilst I do have some friends who play rugby, I don't know all the rules, so if you see any glaring errors please feel free to PM me.**

**Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson or Watson. **

**The Gentleman's Game**

It was a hot day in mid-July that I received the letter. The year was 1885, and I had been living in Baker Street with my friend Sherlock Holmes for the past four years. We were, on that day, sitting lazily in the sitting room - Holmes absent-mindedly, but not without tune, scraping the bow across the strings of his violin, whilst I was reading a rather good book which had been recommended to me by my friend Thurston at my club. Mrs Hudson had bustled in with tea and the afternoon post, including a letter for me (a rare occurrence - I hardly ever got letters - especially in the afternoon post).

I opened it to see that it was from a man I had not heard news from in some years - a David FitzTracy, a man of around my age who was the ex-Captain of Blackheath Rugby Club, the club that I had played for in my youth, and before the war. The letter contained a greeting to me, and, most interestingly, an invitation to play at some sort of charity match at the end of the month. FitzTracy than went on to say that he had heard of the injuries that I had sustained in Afghanistan, but the match was to be a friendly match, the takings being given to Veterans and War Widows.

"An interesting letter, Watson?" I was shaken from my thoughts by Holmes' voice, which radiated curiosity - he was rather short on cases at this present time.

I nodded "Passably. I have been invited to play in a charity match at Blackheath."

Something akin to concern flitted over my friend's face "Are your injuries up to it?"

I smiled "I have been running after you for the past four years, my dear fellow. And, it is a friendly match. I can always ask to be taken out if need be."

"So, will you do it?"

"It is for a good cause…"

Holmes nodded, studied my features, and then said in a voice a little like a small child "May I come?"

The question struck me rather by surprise, I must admit. Rugby…was not really Holmes' kind of sport. He loved fencing, boxing…I had watched him fight, even fought against him, and knew him to be very good. Rugby was rather too…unsubtle for his tastes. I stammered a bit before saying "Well, of course you can come, if you wish…"

Holmes nodded, and returned to his paper "When is the date?" He asked without looking up.

"The twenty-fourth of July."

"I shall look forward to it."

I stared at him for a moment, then returned to my book, marvelling at the way Holmes could be an automaton one moment, and want to support me at a Rugby game the next.

As the date drew nearer, both of us became rather nervous. My fears were based around the question of whether I was too old, whether my wound would flair up at an inconvenient time, whether I would make a fool of myself in front of Holmes. Holmes' fears were illustrated by a conversation he had with me the night before the match "Watson?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow, er…will there be a Doctor present?"

"There usually is. And my medical skills are really not that bad" I said, sarcastically.

"I was…er…thinking more for yourself…"

"Well, thank you Holmes, that is very encouraging."

"I just…you will be careful…will you not?"

"Holmes, I shall be fine. I am not worried." I lied.

Holmes nodded, shot a glance at me, and went back to a newspaper.

The day dawned, and I was up bright and early to head to the ground. The match was not until three o'clock, but I was to go for a training session with other old members of my team beforehand. Holmes meanwhile, was to arrive for the start of the game. From ten o'clock until the clock struck a quarter to three, my ex-team mates and myself trained, re-teaching our bodies tactics we had half-forgotten. In this match, we were to play the present members of the club - chaps much younger and more vital than us - but as was observed by a few of the players, they were rather arrogant and cocky, and needed 'to be taken down a peg or two'.

At a quarter to three, we all changed into the clean team uniforms that had been provided for us, and I sat, waiting for us to have the signal to walk out onto the ground. Feeling rather nervous, I scanned the crowd. The numbers were not huge, but I was gratified to see that a sizable number of people had come to watch the game. Most importantly, Holmes was there, standing in the front row. To my surprise, he had also brought Lestrade along as well, and he was standing on the sidelines, together with three or four of the Irregulars - who looked rather like they were enjoying a day out.

As soon as the clock struck three, the signal went up for us to jog out, and both teams lined up across from each other to shake hands. I was standing next to FitzTracy as we shook hands with our counterparts on the team, and heard the Captain of the opposing team whisper to FitzTracy "Heaven knows why all you old men showed up today. We are going to thrash you…"

"This is a charity game…" started FitzTracy.

"And perhaps" I interjected "You have forgotten that Rugby is the game of gentlemen, not of louts."

The other captain snorted, but FitzTracy grinned at me. "Right," he said "Lets show these whippersnappers that we have not lost it!"

"In the most friendly of fashions, of course."

"Of course."

We smiled mischievously at each other, and the players on both teams went to take their positions on the field. My position was quite near Holmes and the fan-club he had managed to rustle up for me, and I heard the boys shouting "Go on! Doctor! Break 'is legs!" and other such remarks which were not really in the spirit of the game.

However, I was most encouraged by Holmes cry as the game was about to start "Go on, Watson!"

The whistle blew, and I became completely embroiled in the game. For a friendly match, it was rather violent, and I managed to be kicked rather soundly a couple of times. The opposing Captain in particular seemed to have it in for me, and half-way through the match (that we were winning) smacked me hard in the thigh during a scrum, leaving me prostrate on the ground and clutching my thigh. The game was stopped, and FitzTracy ran over to me. "You alright, Watson?"

I nodded, rather numbly and got to my feet. My leg did not hurt too badly, and I wanted to continue. My resolve was heightened even more by the cries of my fans at the sidelines. The boys were all shouting in utter disbelief and anger at the man, as well as using language I could not believe they knew at their ages, Lestrade was shouting about having him arrested for assault. But Holmes was the most magnificent. He raised himself to his full height, and shouted "Blast you, you stupid idiot…when you get out of there, I am going to rip you to shreds!" He then rattled off a string of curses which at least gave me my answer about who was teaching the irregulars their rather choice language.

I exchanged a look with FitzTracy and he grinned at me "You have a loyal friend there, Doctor."

"I know." The match continued, with a penalty for us, and a half-dozen or so more tries for both teams. I do not like to boast, but I have to say that I believe that I played very well, scoring a number of tries myself. The last try I scored was just before I heard the final whistle. By this time, Holmes had abandoned all his control, and was shouting just as loud as the boys: "Go on, Watson!!"

Well, needless to say, we won. Triumph of age over beauty and all that. Triumph of gentlemen over thugs. After soundly thrashing our opponents, they were rather more pleasant to us. We collected the cup, listened to an important person make a speech (to this day I do not know who he was), and went to rejoin our friends and families. Covered head to toe in mud, with lashings of blood all over me as well, I must have looked a sight. The four boys all flung themselves at me. Being a bit bruised, it was rather painful, and after a minute or so, Lestrade bustled them off, clapping my shoulder as he went and saying "Good job, Doctor."

I turned to Holmes. To my surprise, his face was red with excitement, and he was wearing a huge grin "Oh, well done, Watson!"

"I take it you enjoyed the game?"

"I can see why you play, my dear fellow - most invigorating. Maybe I will play a game one day…"

"I do not think you have the breadth for it, Holmes."

Holmes smiled, and said "Ah, maybe you are right. I shall have to make do with watching you."

I shook my head "I think I am getting a bit old for all that, Holmes."

"Nonsense! You beat them soundly. I was very pleased, especially after seeing the look on their Captain's face as My Boswell flew down the field and scored a…point?"

"A try, Holmes," I corrected him "Do you mean to tell me that you have watched this game, but have still no concept of the rules?"

"From where that brute was playing, there did not seem to be very many rules."

"He was a thug. Rugby is a gentleman's game and should be played as such."

Holmes grinned, and said "Now come, and we shall get you back to Baker Street. Although what Mrs Hudson will say I have no idea."

"Oh dear, I quite forgot about her. I do hope she is not too upset."

Holmes grinned, squeezed my shoulder and smiled "Ah well. _I_ am proud of my Boswell."

**So what do you think then? Please Read and Review!!**


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